The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [220]
He opened his eyes. Ayla was sitting with her head bowed, looking down. She was dressed in one of those shapeless wraps, and her hair was tied up in multiple rows of braids. She had a fresh-scrubbed look. The smudge on her cheek was gone; her wrap was a clean, unworn skin. She had such a guileless quality, sitting with her head bowed. There was no artifice, no coy mannerisms or suggestive sidelong glances.
Her tight braids contributed to the impression, as did the wrap with its folds and bulges which camouflaged her so well. That was the trick, the artful concealing of her ripe woman’s body and rich lustrous hair. She couldn’t hide her face, but her habit of looking down or aside tended to divert attention. Why did she keep herself hidden? It must be the test she was undergoing. Most women he knew would have flaunted that magnificent body, worn such golden glory to show off to its best advantage, given anything for a face so beautiful.
He watched her without moving, his discomfort forgotten. Why was she so still? Maybe she didn’t want to look at him, he thought, bringing back his embarrassment and his pain as well. He couldn’t stand it, he had to move.
Ayla looked up when he rolled off his arm. He couldn’t tap her shoulder to acknowledge her presence no matter how well mannered she wanted to be. He didn’t know the signal. Jondalar was amazed to see contrite shame in her face, and the honest open appeal in her eyes. There was no condemnation, no rejection, no pity. Rather she seemed embarrassed. What did she have to be embarrassed about?
She gave him the cup. He took a sip, made a face at the bitter medicine, then drank it down and reached for the waterbag to wash the taste out of his mouth. Then he lay back down, not quite able to get comfortable. She motioned for him to sit up, then straightened, smoothed, and rearranged the furs and skins. He did not lie back down immediately.
“Ayla, there’s so much about you I don’t know and wish I did. I don’t know where you learned your healing arts—I don’t even know how I got here. I only know I’m grateful to you. You saved my life, and, more important, you saved my leg, I’d never get back home without my leg even if I had lived.
“I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself, but you are so beautiful, Ayla. I didn’t know—you hide it so well. I don’t know why you want to, but you must have your reasons. You are learning fast. Maybe when you can talk more you will tell me, if you are free to. If not, I’ll accept that. I know you don’t understand everything I’m saying, but I want to say it, I won’t bother you again, Ayla. I promise.”
22
“Say me right … ‘Don-da-lah.’ ”
“You say my name just fine.”
“No. Ayla say wrong.” She shook her head vehemently. “Say me right.”
“Jondalar. Jon-da-lar.”
“Zzzon…”
“Juh,” he showed her, articulating carefully, “Jondalar.”
“Zh … dzh …” She struggled with the unfamiliar sound.
“Dzhon- da- larrr,” she finally got out, rolling the r.
“That’s good! That’s very good,” he said.
Ayla smiled with her success; then her smile changed to a sly grin. “Dzhon-da-larr ob da Zel-ann-do-nee.” He had said the name of his people more often than he said his own name, and she had been practicing in private.
“That’s right!” Jondalar was genuinely surprised. She hadn’t said it quite right, but only a Zelandonii would know the difference. His pleased approval made all her effort worth it, and Ayla’s smile of success was beautiful.
“What means ‘Zelandonee’?”
“It means my people. Children of the Mother who live in the southwest. Doni means the Great Earth Mother. Earth’s Children, I guess that’s the easiest way to say it. But all people call themselves Earth’s Children, in their own language.